Stinging sand. The tug of destiny. Cerulean. Pointing out constellations to the person lying next to you. Longing. The echo of someone calling your name right before you fall asleep.
Hwang Yujin is 20 years old and he's Korean Canadian. He came to Japan to study at Tokyo College of Music (Tokyo Ongaku Daigaku). He is talented and ambitious and his dream is to become violin soloist.
My new boy is really amazing and I'm so happy he joined my resin crew. I have so much fun discovering what he can do, how he poses. 😊
As my OC he is a 20-year-old Canadian (his parents come from South Korea) and Ren's best friend. His name is Hwang Yujin, he is a talented violinist and wants to gain recognition as a soloist. Back in his high school days he was a promising figure skater (single skating) but a serious injury forced him to quit skating. He got depressed so his parents made him go to therapy. One day his older sister who is acclaimed pianist gave him a record of Ray Chen. That was a turning point in Yujin's life. He fell in love with the sound of violin and soon became addicted to music. He started to learn to play violin and his teachers were astonished by how quickly he was making progress. They say Yujin has the makings of a great violin soloist.
Giaan says she’s fine when she leaves, but Quinn knows she’s lying so hefollows her.
Outside, the air is cold and it slices against his skin. (He ratherenjoys it – lifts his face and inhales). The sounds of the party die down the fartherhe strays away from it, and the night gets darker, offers to envelop him.
He finds her alone at the bus stop, sitting on the bench with her headdown, her thin fingers absently pulling at loose strands of fabric. Giaan looks small. It makes Quinn gnash histeeth.
“Why’d you leave?”, he asks – barks.
Giaan starts, but she doesn’t look at him. His blood simmers. “I said Iwas tired.”
He’d heard her say it, too – watched her subtly lean into Eileen for show,listened to her voice, soft and low. “Bullshit.”
A bus arrives and stops. Somebody gets off and walks away. The word continuesto ring in his ears, like they can’t believe he’s said it at all, and Giaanhasn’t moved. Quinn finally tears his gaze away from her, focuses it on the busgradually disappearing in the distance until it blends with the many other dotsof faraway traffic.
She talks at last: “You don’t know anything.” Giaan sounds as small asshe looks, tone conveying resignation rather than confrontation.
It is very much the opposite of his. “I know you’re lying!” Now that makes her look at him. Quinnswallows and clenches his clammy hands into fists – unclenches them – clenchesthem again. “You’re lying to yourself,” he adds, perhaps unnecessarily.
(He hates the way his breath hitches when he does.)
“You don’t know anything,” sherepeats, slower this time. Quinn realises that this is what her fury is like:ice rather than fire, and a thousand times more effective than a raised voice. Eachword sinks into his bones and spreads poison in his veins.
He returns her glare. “Admit it.”
“What…?”
“Admit it!”
“Quinn, I don’t know what you’re -!”
“Admit you’re still in love with him!”
He takes a step forward when he shouts this. He regrets it instantly.Some distances, Quinn knows, aren’t meant to be closed. This was one of them.“You’re still in love with him,” he says again and pretends not to notice howhis voice shakes.
Still, although he’s finallyquieted down, Quinn is no less harsh. He tells himself: this has to be done.
And he takes it back the momenthe sees Giaan stave in into herself. (He’s never claimed to be brave nor has heever pretended to be strong).
Watching Giaan right now, he thinks, is like watching the sea before atsunami strikes. Something inside her retreats, rushes away from the surface,escaping him and, perhaps, herself until it’s reached a dead-end and the onlyway that remains is forward. He should’ve been expecting this, maybe, but beingpowerless, helpless, against the oncoming tide that is Giaan Elmes very nearlybreaks him. “I’m sorry,” she tells him, and he believes her because she wouldn’tbe crying if she didn’t mean it. (Healmost doesn’t want her to mean it: maybe it’d hurt less that way.)
“I know I shouldn’t - I’m sorry,”she says again, choking on a broken sob, “I’m sorry.” Giaan brings her hands towipe away her tears, but they won’t stop and that frustrates her more. Hermovements go from frantic and embarrassed to furious.
Quinn can’t move. He wonders if he would help even if he could. “I don’tget it,” he admits.
She sobs again.
“Why?”
“Please don’t ask me – not that – not you –“
He presses on regardless (this hasto be done): “Why are you still inlove with him?”
“Stop, Quinn… Please.” Quinn wishes he could. The sound that escapes herthroat next, the sight of her cringing away – from him, from herself, from the inevitablequestion and its painful answer -, that would’ve been enough to break anyone’sresolve. Who is he to ask these questions anyway? Who is he to make herconfront a truth neither of them wantsto face?
Still.
This has to be done.
“Why are you still in love with him–“ he raises his voice again, draws courage from its volume, tunes out theguilt and the humiliation and the reluctance and the envy and the jealousy churning in his stomach “– whenyou could just fall in love with me!?”
He doesn’t know whether this makes her stop crying altogether or sob allthe harder: truthfully, he can’t hear anything over the blood roaring in hisears. “He fucked up,” Quinn continues, voice unexpectedly firm. Somehow, he’snot exhausted. Somehow, his heart is still in its place, very much drummingpainfully against his ribcage, when he could’ve sworn he’d just ripped it outhimself and thrown it at her feet. He wants to understand. He wants Giaan tounderstand as well. “He – He hurt you –“
“Don’t do this, please.”
“He hurt you!”
“Quinn!”
“He ruined everything, but I choseyou!”
Her last cry is quiet, pitiful, but, quite clearly, the very last. Itsounded almost like she hadn’t meant to utter it at all, as if it had beenstuck in her throat and nothing more – so long, good riddance, may you never return.Giaan buries her face in her hands.
“I chose you. In spite ofeverything, I -”, he breaks off. His voice fails him (about time!) and that’s okay because he doesn’t have the energy orthe desire to continue. Quinn wants to hide. Quinn wants to cry (apparently, it’scontagious).
He settles for turning his head away from her instead.
He can feel his face burning. He pretends it’s because of the cold.
Finally, Giaan speaks: “You shouldn’t have.”
He knows she means that too. It tears him in half. “I didn’t have to do anything.”
“I’m sorry.” She still doesn’t understand. Quinn doesn’t have thestrength to explain.
“I…” This kind of thing, Freddie babbled at him once, is not a matter ofchoice. “Don’t be. I’m sorry too.”
They fall silent.
“For what it’s worth…” he begins and then falters. “I didn’t pick you to fall in love with.” He certainly didn’twant time to freeze when she smiledat him (honestly, it was embarrassing to get caught staring). Giaan looks up athim, mostly surprised but also a little bit hurt. “But I -,” he clears histhroat “- I chose to stay by yourside regardless. That was my decision and mine alone and there’s nothing youcan do or say to take it away from me.”
Giaan nods, staring at him wide-eyed, but she doesn’t say anything.
(Her cheeks are red. After all, it’s a very cold night.)
Eventually, her bus arrives. Not another word is spoken between the twoof them. Quinn waits for her to board it and, afterwards, for it to disappearin the distance. He leaves too, later.
The bottle spun wildly, the sloppy laughter of intoxicated youths filling the room as the glass slowed its way to face the inevitable victim. You fought the urge to frown.
“Oh, Mike, but you’re oh ~ so young!” Henrietta hiccupped, waving a bashful hand in front of her.
Mike, who sat at the opposite side of the circle, shrugged, “I don’t make the rules of the game.”
Annoyed, you chose to look anywhere other than the epicenter where the two leaned in. Just as you had begun to notice a strange expression upon Ashton Hawkeye’s face, you blinked your attention back to Mike and Henrietta just as the latter had begun giggling uncontrollably, her body pulled in deeply by Mike Cooper.
Upon hearing the audible smack of their lips parting, you stood and began to walk away. From behind you, you could just make out the familiar voice of Mike saying, “Don’t you think my skills are beyond my years?” with a smirk that you could practically see from his irritable, cocky tone. Henrietta’s giggly response was muffled as you made your way further into the kitchen. The journey was wobbly, considering you had, too, consumed a bit of alcohol before the crude game began.
“Ugh,” you groaned, slamming a hand against a counter before bringing it back to your face, “he’s so annoying.”
“Who is?”
You jumped in shock, turning your back to the counter as you spun around to face Giaan Elmes, “Shit!”
She blushed, glass in hand, “I-I’m sorry! Maybe I shouldn’t be so nosy, sorry, wow. Can I blame it on the alcohol?”
“Jeez, you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, exhaling before straightening up against the counter. Upon seeing her nervous smile, you couldn’t help but smile as well, “It’s not a problem. I’m just annoyed at Mike.”
“Mike Cooper? What’d he do?” she asked, her curiosity clearly piqued. You weren’t sure why you admitted it.
“Uh,” you scratched at your neck, “just being a brat as usual.”
Giaan rolled her eyes with a small laugh, “I know that feeling. Is he in trouble again?”
“Yeah,” you deadpanned, “with me.”
“Is that why you’re here?” she asked.
You stared at her for a moment, the outline of her face only slightly unstable – undoubtedly due to the buzz, of course. You were aware that both of you had Eileen as a mutual friend, but you began to realize that you had never really spoken to Giaan Elmes. In fact, after some squinting, you weren’t too sure if you saw her around all that much either.
Otherwise, you believed you would have at least noticed how damned cute she was.
“Sophia?”
“Oh!” you blurted out, leaving your train of thought, “Sorry, um, yeah! Just getting away. Why haven’t I seen you around much tonight? You’re not playing spin the bottle with everyone. Why are you even in here?”
Giaan blushed, “O-OH! Um, well,” she laughed nervously, “I’m just talking to a friend out in the den, and there’s a couple of other people there. I came in here to fill my glass back up, but then I found you.”
“Hm,” you hummed, tapping your fingers against the counter by the Vodka bottle, “How much of this do you think it will take to forget about tonight? That’s my goal.”
“I don’t think memories can be erased,” Giaan said, walking over to stand beside you before putting her glass down to pour some vodka into it, “But if you want to blur them so much that you can’t make them out, then here,” she said, handing you her glass of hard liquor, “start with this.”
Your eyes slowly switched between her gaze and the glass in your hand. You gingerly placed it back onto the countertop, “Why don’t you play the game?”
Blushing again, she shook her head and hands simultaneously, “It’s a little t-too late anyway! It’s not that important.”
Not giving yourself the time to think, you gently grabbed her wrists and brought her hands down to her sides. Your grasp loosened until your palms could smoothly slide up her arms until her biceps were settled comfortably in your grip. Closing your eyes, you pulled her in so that your lips could embrace hers, the scent and taste of alcohol lingering as you angled your head for something deeper. You could feel that all but her lips had frozen, her body stiff – in what you could only assume was shock – like ice while you felt her mouth melt against yours. However, you needed to breathe.
You pulled away, letting go of her arms as you took a step back to see her expression. Her eyes remained close momentarily before slowly opening, a delayed shock expressing itself rather quickly when her eyes suddenly widened and the hue of her face reddened further than what the alcohol could do.
Ignoring the warmth of your cheeks, you cleared your throat and said, “In case you wanted to know what you were missing out on,” before downing the glass of vodka and giving an awkward wave before retreating back to the group playing spin-the-bottle.
You could have sworn that, just after you left the kitchen, you had heard Giaan pouring another glass almost immediately.
